The Assassin
by Lellow
Summary: In the turbulence of the Bakumatsu a young girl seeks to destroy Choshu's most dangerous assassin
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: All characters, places and situations in this piece of fiction would not be in existence without the genius of Watsuki Nobuhiro. There is no money being made from this piece of imagination

SPOILERS: Major spoilers for the 'Remembrance Arc' – Volume's 19-21.

SYNOPSIS: In the turbulence of the Bakumatsu, a young girl seeks to destroy Choshu's most dangerous assassin.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The events in this story, and the characters, (particularly Kenshin) are based on the information given in the manga only, **not **the OVA's or anime.

Thank you again to "The Wandering Pen" for your insight...and your time reviewing my work.

* * *

The Assassin

**Prologue**

'_Are you like the painting of a sorrow,  
A face without a heart?'_

_-William Shakespeare; Hamlet (Act 4, Scene 7) _

**_Bunky__ū 3 (1863), Spring_**

**_Edo_**

The sun beat down heavily on the crowded street, augmenting the pungent aromas of the marketplace. It was midafternoon and there was not a shadow to be cast as children ran tirelessly through the streets. The smell of slowly decaying fish and rotting fruit mingled unpleasantly with the sour scent of human sweat and something else that seemed to be carried into the city by the wind.

Edo had never been the same since the summer the Black ships had arrived at Uraga bay. Steel ships, taller than houses, cast their large, ominous shadows over the city creating panic. Commoners, rich and poor alike, sought protection behind the Bakufu's sword only to see it fall limp at the sight of the steel emerging in the hands of the foreigners. It was not long before their faith in samurai strength had begun to dwindle and the instinct to survive had driven men, women and children alike into looting and killings, filling the streets with a heady mix of fire and blood.

It was as though the end of the world had come.

And for Yukishiro Tomoe it had.

On that hot summer day, amidst the fear and chaos, Tomoe stood quietly inside the smallest tatami room of her home, with a crying babe in her arms. In front of her, her mother's still body lay sprawled across the bedding.

She had not moved for hours. An eternal winter gripped her heart.

She hadn't even shed a tear.

A hard bump to her shoulder jostled Tomoe from her dark memories. She pitched forward, to regain her balance and scowled in the direction of the passer-by who had walked hurriedly past her without so much as an apology and began to weave through the narrow market streets. There were so many people on the street. Too many people. The last time she had seen a crowd this large gather so close to Edo castle it had been to celebrate the failed assassination attempt of the Shogun's right hand man, the new tairo, Ando Nobumasa.

Clutching at a small silk bag filled with coins, Tomoe pushed through the unusually large crowd gathered in front of a fruit stall stacked high with Satsuma oranges. It had become a treasured custom for her to pass by this stall each time she went to the market; the fresh scent reminded her of her mother and her fondness for the fruit.

'Uncle Taro should start charging you for standing here.'

Tomoe tensed, startled.

'It's alright.' A short, plump girl with her hair tied in two buns atop her head had somehow managed to insinuate herself next to Tomoe. 'It's just me.'

The crowd heaved pushing both the girls further into the stall, toppling some oranges onto the floor.

'Okichi!'

'Sorry, Aunty Miko,' the plump girl blushed. Okichi grabbed Tomoe's wrist tugging her towards the back of the modest stall, her face was flushed with excitement. Tomoe followed, pleased to be brought out of her confining position amongst the crowd, but feeling slightly affronted at having been treated so unceremoniously, by a woman who until only three weeks ago was nothing more than a merchant's daughter. Tomoe smoothed her kimono as Okichi squirmed with excitement.

'It's wonderful isn't it?' Okichi whispered gleefully. Tomoe blinked, befuddled. 'They had said the shogun had lost his strength! That the samurai had shown the foreigners Japan was weak; but they are defeated, they are wrong!'

'They?'

'Chōshū Ishin shi shi! Patriots!' she spat with distaste. Tomoe peered over Okichi's shoulder noticing for the first time that the crowd appeared to be anticipating something coming from the silk quarter. Tomoe had heard rumours about the violent murders of statesmen in the capital. The killings had seemed so far away, yet she had noticed how shaken officials here in Edo were about the news.

'So called patriots!' Okichi muttered. Tomoe resisted the urge to close her eyes in pain and prayed that Okichi wouldn't begin one of her memorized rhetorics on the legitimacy of shogunal power.

As the daughter of a merchant, Okichi had never cared for 'men's talk' until her recent marriage to Sato Jinzaburo; the fourth son of the Sendai Damiyo only three weeks ago. Okichi's family had been thrilled of course, it didn't even matter to them that Okichi was chosen only because of their family's ability to fill Sendai Damiyo's empty coffers. The honour of being made samurai was too great to feel any sting of insult.

Since then, Okichi had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her new role insisting that her vocal support of the government was integral to her husband's reputation and standing with the Tokugawa.

'The emperor supports the shogun; Sato tells me that the shogun's men have these 'patriots' cornered, it'll only be a matter of time before they are defeated.'

'So why are more soldiers being sent to Kyoto?'

The condescending look on Okichi's face made Tomoe regret her words instantly.

'It's not for you to think about these things,' she said disapprovingly and Tomoe bristled inwardly at being taught samurai etiquette by a merchant's daughter. 'Our place is to help our men achieve their goals, that they may keep us safe and our society in order.' She folded her arms across her chest. 'Perhaps if you had kept that in mind Sato would not have retracted his proposal from you and asked for my hand instead.'

Tomoe bit the inside of her cheek, and swallowed the smart reply that threatened to spill from her lips. She should have known that any question over the shogunate's judgement would earn her a scathing reply and Okichi knew Tomoe burned each time she mentioned Sato's proposal, yet she never knew the full truth of it.

'Here they come!' Okichi said excitedly, quickly forgetting their distasteful conversation in favour of pulling Tomoe out of her thoughts and back into the melee and earning them both another reproachful glare from Aunt Miko. 'Look!'

Tomoe followed Okichi's finger. A procession was coming down the street slowly, four samurai attendants dressed in full regalia, marching behind two eta, holding a wooden board with a large rotting head mounted upon it. It reeked of decaying flesh and cheap perfume.

Tomoe's stomach turned.

'Doesn't he look wonderful!'

Tomoe followed Okichi's line of sight and suppressed the urge to shake her head. Sato Jinzaburo marched proudly beside his comrades, his chest puffed out in front of him, his face, while set in a mask of solemnity could not hide the glee he felt at the attention being thrown in his direction. There was no question that he enjoyed feeling superior. It was one of the reasons Tomoe refused his proposal a year ago.

Of course he had been humiliated. She half-expected him to cut her down because of it. But what he had done was far worse. Tales of her arrogance and coldness began to circulate within their small community, until almost every man, woman and child regarded her with silent contempt and Tomoe despaired that she would never find a husband.

'I didn't know Sato-san went to Kyoto.' she commented watching them make their way slowly down the street.

'Oh he didn't,' Okichi said her voice still bright despite the macabre scene before them. 'He was just asked to take part in the ceremony.'

_Figures. _

'Who is that?' Tomoe asked taking her eyes off Sato and turning her attention to the two eta who were several paces ahead of the most decorated of the samurai escorts, her eyes transfixed on the gnarled, greying, unpleasant thing making its way down the street nailed to the board.

'That, is recently promoted Captain Kiyosato Akebo of Mito province' Okichi beamed, clearly proud of her knowledge of the goings on in the upper echelons of samurai power.

As though he had heard her, one of the attendants turned to look at them both. Okichi blushed and waved back at him shyly. Tomoe bristled inwardly wondering not for the first time how Okichi, despite her plain appearance and her lack of status and social graces had such a large following of men.

'That was his younger brother, Kiyosato Akira ' she giggled delightedly, her eyes still on the procession 'You remember him don't you? We used play with him when we were children until their damiyo requested his father's presence at their home prefecture.'

'I meant the head, Okichi-chan,' Tomoe replied dryly.

Okichi blinked.

'Oh!' she said laughing, a repulsive grating sound which identified her poor breeding. 'Oh Tomoe-chan! No wonder you're not yet married! Your eye goes straight to the disgusting shrivelled up head!'

Tomoe frowned. She was sure that was not the only reason she was unmarried. She determinedly stopped her eyes from burning holes into Sato Jinzaburo's flesh, focusing instead on the procession and feeling a set of eyes settle on her briefly.

Kiyosato Akira.

His head turned towards her as though she had called his name. He smiled at her and she stared at him, stricken.

'It's a Chōshū assassin.' Okichi said, unaware of the short, silent exchange between the two 'He was involved in the attack of those foreign ships last year. Kiyosato Akebo-sama killed the assassin in Kyoto when he tried to penetrate Nijo Castle, the assassin's sword broke.'

'Really?'

'That's what I'm told,' she said disinterestedly, 'What does it matter what he did anyway?' she added in exasperation. 'He was on their side and now he's dead. You should focus your attention on a man who's alive. Like Kiyosato Akira.' Okichi pointed to the samurai attendant. 'You remember him don't you?'

Tomoe frowned.

'I don't,' she confessed then turned away from the procession. Okichi grabbed her wrist.

'You should come to the presentation,' she whispered harshly. 'Maybe after, I could introduce you to him.'

Tomoe pulled her arm away from Okichi and rubbed her wrist.

'I have to finish the shopping,' she replied irritably. The last thing she needed was Sato Jinzaburo's wife playing matchmaker with her. However Okichi appeared to be just as insistent and she moved in front of her blocking her path.

'You're almost eighteen.' The words struck a deep seated chord of insecurity within Tomoe. She froze.

'How long will you let your pride stand in the way of your happiness? ' Okichi sighed 'Tomoe-chan I'm not saying this to hurt you. You _know_ what people are saying about you don't you? You need to open your heart, Tomoe. The world is becoming darker, and we are needed to give our men hope and happiness.' She paused and let go of her hand. 'But if all you can offer is cold indifference...'


	2. Chapter 1 :: Fallen

DISCLAIMER: All characters, places and situations in this piece of fiction would not be in existence without the genius of Watsuki Nobuhiro. There is no money being made from this piece of imagination

SPOILERS: Major spoilers for the 'Remembrance Arc' – Volume's 19-21.

SYNOPSIS: In the turbulence of the Bakumatsu, a young girl seeks to destroy Choshu's most dangerous assassin.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The events in this story, and the characters, (particularly Kenshin) are based on the information given in the manga only, **not **the OVA's or anime. Please R&R.

Thank you again to "The Wandering Pen" You rule for helping me figure out this chapter!

For all of you who have read this chapter before, I'm just letting you know that there has been a change in events in this part of the story. Originally I had centred Katsura and Shakku's interaction around the incident at Musaya, a shop where a patriot Furudaka was arrested. After doing the research properly, I found out that this could not be the case, because this event occurred almost at the same time as the Ikeda-ya incident, so I had to change Katsura and Shakku's interaction to focus on the situation in Choshu and their bid to smuggle noblemen who supported their cause out of Kyoto. I think it's turned out better because it gave me an opportunity to introduce more historical context into the story, such as the Bombardment of Shimonoseki by Western Allied forces.

* * *

The Assassin

**Chapter 1: Fallen**

_Have I fallen so far and is the hour so late  
that nothing remains but the cry of my hate?_

_Jean Valjean; Les Miserables_

**_Genji 1__ (1864), Spring_**

**_Kyoto  
_**

Cold indifference. Since Okichi had spoken those words to Tomoe nothing much had changed. Only that Kiyosato Akira had reached his hand out to her and she had offered him cold death.

_We regret to inform you of the death of Kiyosato Akira – Samurai Retainer – he died with honour protecting his Lord. _

Death and darkness did not belong to Kiyosato Akira, with his friendly face and sincere smile. He deserved a woman whose heart was filled with laughter and smiles. Not her stiff countenance, which had made him believe he was not enough for her. She remembered the assassin's head rotting back in Edo on atop the high walls surrounding Edo Castle. It had been a great, ruddy, grey thing with meaty jowls and rough, almost animal-like features contorted in anger. It made him look as though he had met his death by charging at his target with the finesse of an enraged water buffalo. It was these men who thrived in shadows who deserved her presence, not those unwillingly surrounded by it, not those like Akira.

Her gift was darkness and sorrow, and she swore that whoever took Akira-sama's life would receive it.

Then she saw him.

Her conspirators had told her to harden her heart, to be sure of her mission. They had told her he would be young, and not to be fooled because behind that young face was a brutal, cold murderer.

They had told her.

But still...

Tomoe didn't know how long she had been standing there, contemplating him. She had expected him to be taller with a brusque and arrogant manner, a man who cared for nothing more than his own glory and conquest. He wasn't supposed to save her from drunkards in pubs or protect her from the many atrocities of the Kyoto night...

He wasn't supposed to have the face of a child.

_How was it..._ she wondered, ..._that even in the midst of all those chains, he had not once looked like a prisoner? _

Slowly, she reached for her tantou. She had been surprised to see it simply sitting there within her reach next to her futon. Tatsumi had told her that a man such as Battosai would know if she had a weapon and he would most likely disarm her.

'_...But if he is foolish enough to let his guard down while you are near,'_ Tatsumi's voice echoed in her mind, _'then you are welcome to take advantage of the opportunity...' _

Her hand tightened around her weapon.

Strange, that a hitokiri so renowned for his prowess and skill could be so easily trusting of someone he had just met, even though she was only a woman. She stepped closer, careful to be silent lest she wake him, her hand still gripping the tantou so that her knuckles were white. He had done himself a disservice leaving her in his room with a knife. She could kill him in his sleep, stab him right through the heart and watch his eyes open in shock as life slipped away from them.

_I am dangerous_, she insisted to herself, desperately ignoring that the blade she held was still sheathed.

_He's a murderer. _She reminded herself. _He killed Kiyosato. He's killed hundreds of men. _

Tomoe touched her face, remembering the feeling of warm blood as it rained on her. The memory sparking a vision of the cool rage in his eyes, the sure deadliness of his movements, his hand pushing against the hilt of a rowdy soldier's katana to prevent its unsheathing.

She blinked.

_No. _

Her hands shook and although part of her mind screamed for her to unsheathe the blade, she knew she couldn't. This was the moment for which she had abandoned all she held dear. She had nothing left... so

_Why?_

_Coward_...

She turned the knife on herself idly wondering, what this young boy would think of the woman he saved, who killed herself in his room as he slept. Would he be horrified? After all he did not know her. He did not even know her name and he had no reason to weep for her death. She would just be another body, like so many others he had killed, like the black samurai, whose body was left so coldly on the ground. Like Kiyosato. The image of his body sprawled across the ground flashed through her mind. How he died she did not even know.

_We regret to inform you of the death of Kiyosato Akira – Samurai Retainer – he died with honour protecting his Lord. _

Those few lines had played in her head over and over again since the day his older brother had come to her door with the letter. The life she had envisioned shattered, her anguish now echoing hollowly in her heart.

The tip of the knife hovered just beneath her jaw and she wondered when she had unsheathed it. Both her hands held it in place. It seemed ironic that her hands would be more willing to deliver swift death to herself than to Kiyosato's killer. As though her hands knew the truth that her heart could not accept. She was responsible, she did not stop him. All it would take was one quick move and her shame would be over... and yet...

Defeated, she sheathed the knife and placed it on top of the folded futon. It almost dropped because she didn't want to look at her hands. She did not want to believe that they were shaking, furious at her impotence.

She could not kill herself. She could not kill him.

The room had suddenly become too hot and far too small and Tomoe felt desperate for space and air. As quietly as she could she slid the shoji open, turning back once to look at him.

_Later,_ she thought._ It will become easier. _

She knew she was lying to herself, but the thought gave her a cold comfort. She slid the shoji closed as quietly as she could. Tomoe was shivering so badly that she did not know how she managed to escape the room so silently.

_Forgive me my weakness Kiyosato Akira–sama. _

* * *

'_In order to destroy this era we must call upon the madness that gives us strength' _

Those words, spoken seven years ago by Yoshida-sensei, had made no sense to Katsura's sharp young mind as he sat in the sensei's Hagi prison. He remembered the many discussions with his teacher, his incisive questions, and quick wit, allowing him to quickly distinguish himself from the many students who had come from all over Japan to hear Yoshida-sensei speak. But when his teacher spoke of the madness which gave strength, it seemed as though only Takasugi completely understood Yoshida-sensei's intent.

And oh how Katsura had tried. Once, he had even beseeched his father to allow him to talk to some of his mad patients, so that he may better understand his teacher's lessons. The exercise seemed futile, for most were unintelligible when manic and frail and pathetic when lucid.

Katsura had never seen strength in madness. Until now.

Taking a long sip from his sake bowl, he allowed himself a soft chuckle as a realization came to him.

_That is why Yoshida-sensei's lessons are so clear now. _He thought. _I am going mad. _

Turning his eyes back to Takasugi's letter he blinked to focus his vision. He did not need to read it to know what it said. Ever since the Bombardment of Shimonoseki, where Choshu had witnessed the foreigners obliterate their defences as punishment for their attack on foreign merchant ships, the emperor and the shogun had come to an uneasy truce. United by the main goal to obliterate the rebels advocating 'joi', they had sent in troops of Mimawari-gumi to purge the city.

Choshu, of course, made it a point to rescue the exiled princes who supported their cause, in the hopes that the emperor would one day welcome them back into the imperial court and unite with Choshu against the shogun. Three weeks prior, a letter from Takasugi had confirmed their safety in Hagi, although he appeared sceptical that they would be able to ensure their survival, for as each day passed the likelihood that the princes could return to court to advocate Choshu's agenda were lessening. The letter Katsura now held related the news of two of the princes' deaths, and the Kiheitai's restlessness and their desire to march on the capital to rid the emperor of the shogun's influence.

Ever since Choshu had lost its position with the imperial court and the Shinsengumi and Mimawarigumi were prowling the city for rebels. Not since Ii Naosuke's purge of Choshu patriots had a fear like this been known.

And now he had learned that Choshu's information was leaking, Battosai's existence had been revealed, and Satsuma, whose support he had hoped for, rallied for the side of the shogunate.

Yet, for all that had occurred, it was the revelation of Battosai's existence which stood out at the forefront of his mind. Though Choshu soldiers knew of his presence in the shadows, few knew his identity, leaving only those who stood in his inner circle to be suspected as traitor.

Unless Himura had unknowingly left a witness.

Katsura frowned.

No. Nothing escaped Himura.

He shook his head, as though the action would dispel all his suspicions, before resting it in the palm of his hands. He felt stretched out, wounded and exhausted, and the fighting had yet to reach its pinnacle.

'You look like you need this,' the voice was gruff and held some humour. Katsura peered over his fingers to see a sake jug and cup in front of him on the table. He blinked, so deep was he in his thoughts that he didn't realize where he was sitting. He took a quick look at the surroundings. He was in the eating hall at the Kohagi-ya. The hall was almost empty with only one table on the opposite side of the room occupied by three young soldiers fresh from Hagi, their forms obscured by the wooden partitions which separated each table. Katsura's eyes settled on the man who stood in front of him smiling wryly.

'Shakku-san.' His mouth twitched into a smile. 'Here I thought you would leave our cause for Satsuma.'

The comment drew an irritated scowl from Shakku. True, he had been raised in that prefecture, and he was a sword smith who had supplied them with weapons prior to joining with Choshu. It was perfectly understandable that their warriors would use his swords to fight the war. But now with Choshu bleeding from the wounds Satsuma had inflicted, Arai Shakku was coldly regarded by those who had survived. Katsura laughed humourlessly and gestured for the other man to sit. He did so cautiously.

'My apologies Shakku-san' he said picking up the jar of sake and pouring for both him and Shakku. 'It has not been a day of good news.'

Shakku nodded gravely.

'I heard of the raid in Hagi,' Shakku said. 'It is a good thing that Prince Sanjo escaped unharmed.'

'Indeed,' Katsura said swirling his saucer of sake and watching as the motion created a small vortex in the middle. Idly he envisioned the thoughts in his mind turn into that sucking vortex. 'But his voice is nothing without the support of the others.' A small smile crept onto his lips 'Especially considering how much he had riled the emperor with his strong opinions on 'joi'…'

Shakku let out a short laugh. It was no secret that Prince Sanjo had been the most vehement supporters of the emperor's decree to expel the foreigners. Shakku's expression sobered as he looked upon Katsura.

'There are five others to lend their support to him yet Katsura, all is not lost'

Katsura shook his head.

'I fear that road has already been closed to us' he replied sombrely. 'Their rescue from the wrath of the Bakufu has been a costly gratitude for their aide in gaining the emperor's favour, if even for a little while.' He paused, lifted his cup of sake to his lips before placing it back down 'What worries me now is Himura.'

'Himura?'

Katsura lifted his eyes to examine Shakku. The man's face was knit in worry and genuine surprise. Katsura's eyes then flitted down at the saucer of sake in Shakku's hands which, like his, was untasted.

'He was ambushed last night.'

Shakku followed his gaze and his frown deepened.

'You think me traitor?' His voice was cold.

'If I thought you were the traitor you would already be dead,' Katsura replied evenly, lifting his cup of sake to his mouth and taking a drink. He felt the satisfying burn of alcohol trickle down his throat, but it hadn't soothed his mind nearly enough. 'Do you have what I asked for?'

'Yes.' Shakku replied, taking a sip of his own drink. Shakku then smiled and reached behind him to put a long cloth-wrapped item on the table in front of them. Shakku uncovered it carefully, revealing a sword in a decorated black mahogany sheath. He was smiling. 'To date it is my finest work.'

Slowly he drew the sword from its sheath and revealed the bottom of its edge. Katsura pulled out the blade fully noting that the metal, although flexible, had a promising hard quality to it.

'It's light' he commented approvingly.

'To allow for finer control,' Shakku replied nodding, watching as Katsura swung the blade experimentally, drawing surreptitious stares from the young men in the opposite table. 'Surely something Himura would appreciate.'

'It's an exquisite sword. Well worth the price you demanded.' Katsura sheathed the sword and pushed it towards Shakku. 'You should give it to him.' Shakku raised an interested eyebrow and reluctantly pulled his hand away from the sword, and Katsura's lip twitched. 'I don't think he will be as taken with it as we are.'

Shakku frowned, insulted.

'Why not?'

'No reason concerning the sword,' Katsura said, taking another swig of his sake, he frowned at its coldness. 'He's besotted by some woman he rescued last night. No doubt her appeal will take precedence.'

'A woman?' Shakku echoed incredulously.

Katsura tilted his head towards the courtyard entrance and Shakku turned around to see a young woman ushering more soldiers into the room. Shakku let out a short disbelieving laugh.

'So,' Shakku paused turning back to Katsura, whose attention was back on his sake. 'Who is she?'

'She calls herself To-mo-e,' Katsura said, enunciating every syllable of her name while pouring another glass of sake.

'Tomoe?' Shakku echoed a little too loudly, drawing stares towards them. Shakku lowered his voice, but the young woman had looked their way, obviously curious. 'Tomoe who? Is that the best information your intelligence can get you?'

'Intelligence?'

'Surely you've had someone check her background before letting her in here, Katsura...'

Katsura blinked surprised at himself. No, he hadn't even thought of that. His head had been filled with worries about the situation in Choshu and then again this morning about the ambush that he hadn't even thought to examine the girl's background. Katsura groaned.

'I'll go find Katagai-san and tell him to look into the girl.' He heard, rather than saw, Shakku stand up.

'No need.' Katsura's eyes were now back at the courtyard entrance where Himura was standing watching the girl work, his expression a curious mix of innocence, perplexity, and shyness. It was such a strange thing to see him timid and unsure, especially since all he had been when Katsura had met him was confident to the point of arrogant. 'Katagai-san will be meeting me soon. He has some news regarding Satsuma's movements.'

Both men watched as Himura approached her, standing an appropriate distance from her. Always proper. The conversation was short - no longer than a few seconds, cut off by a young maid and a tea tray, but it seemed to leave Himura looking like he was about to explode in frustration. This was the second time Katsura had seen the woman's mere presence shake the near stoic boy, and to his surprise, he found that it did not amuse him nearly as much as it did earlier that morning.

'Arrange for the girl to serve tea in the chrysanthemum room in an hour.' He said turning to Shakku who was also watching the exchange, albeit with more amusement. Shakku turned back to him. 'Not a word to Himura.'

'Of course' Shakku agreed meeting Katsura's eyes briefly before picking up the blade and leaving.

* * *

Sweat trickled down I'izuka's brow. He had taken a great risk leaving the Kohagi-ya in broad daylight. He was lucky Katagai never asked too many questions as long as he told him the errand he ran was for Katsura. He paused in front the building and caught his breath. He hated this part of Gion district. The small house appeared to be squashed between two larger establishments, and could be no bigger than an alleyway. The roof hung dangerously low, as though threatening to cave in.

_This must be the place_

I'izuka entered the room. It was empty but for a low table bearing a lumpy and uneven mass and the large, thickly muscled old man who stood in the opposite corner, his body tense. I'izuka took in a deep breath and suppressed the urge to flee upon seeing him.

'I had almost thought you wouldn't come,' Tatsumi said, turning around to face him his expression dark.

'The woman you sent was successful'

'Oh?' There was surprise in his voice. 'I would've thought your assassin was on strict orders to kill all witnesses.'

'He is.'

'Yet she lives.'

I'izuka laughed.

'You were right. A beautiful woman could get under any man's skin.'

'Not deep enough.' His ominous tone made I'izuka pause.

'So it's true,' he said. 'One of your own was killed by Battosai.'

'Yes,' the older man said, vaguely turning towards the right. I'izuka followed the man's gaze. 'Your stories of his strength were clearly not exaggerations.'

I'izuka's eyes rested on a figure lying on the low table, the shape of the body becoming more apparent, the closer he looked. Cautiously, he approached the body, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the man's face. I'izuka cringed as he removed the black cloth covering the body, his eyes drawn instinctively to the wound. The weapon had cut cleanly through the clavicle and tore through the man's thickly muscled flesh, snapping every bone in his ribcage. He would've been dead before he hit the ground. I'izuka shivered as he once again considered the sheer power which belonged to the slight hitokiri.

'He would not have been an easy man to kill,' I'izuka said, hoping it brought some measure of comfort.

'He did his duty,' Tatsumi responded.

'Of course,' I'izuka agreed and watched as the older man left the room.

_That is all one can ask from one's son._

* * *

**Appendix**

The Bombardment of Shimonoseki – This occurred on July 20, 1863 as retaliation for Choshu's attack on merchant sailing ships. The western alliance obliterated Choshu's defences and hundreds of Samurai died.

Prince Sanjo – was one of the eight princes who were exiled from the imperial court for supporting the cause of expelling the barbarians.


	3. Chapter 2 :: Legend

DISCLAIMER: All characters, places and situations in this piece of fiction would not be in existence without the genius of Watsuki Nobuhiro. There is no money being made of this piece of imagination

SPOILERS: Major spoilers for the 'Remembrance Arc' – Volume's 19-21.

SYNOPSIS: In the turbulence of the Bakumatsu, a young girl seeks to destroy Choshu's most dangerous assassin.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Also thank you to Pen, without whom all my readers would be reading some second rate fanfic with poor descriptions, minor (yet irritating) characterization flaws and a sinful lack of commas.

* * *

The Assassin

**Chapter 2: Legend**

'_Come, Learn the meaning of the name Battosai'_

_Rurouni Kenshin Act 13; 'The Meaning of the Name'_

**_Genji 1 (1864), Spring_**

**_Edo  
_**

Tomoe didn't know what had drawn her to this place. She stood alone outside the city gates, surrounded by nothing but dying stumps of desiccated trees and the dusty path leading back into the city. A small hair pin of gold and jade; Kiyosato's betrothal gift was her only companion. As she raised her eyes to what lay atop the tall bamboo stalks which made up the top of Edo Castle's fortress, she tightened her grip on the object, letting its sharp edges pierce her skin and draw blood. It seemed easier for her to feel that pain, as though it made her other sorrows less real.

There were new heads now; enemies who had fallen in the war. Only last week the head of a young man who looked no older than herself was brought into the city. His young head was placed to the right of the Choshu hitokiri brought in almost a year ago. The hitokiri's head was nothing more than a skull now. A distant echo of what he used to be. She remembered the day it had come into the city. It was the first time she set eyes on Kiyosato Akira.

The soft crunch of gravel alerted her to a new presence, but she did not turn around. What did it matter if death came for her tonight?

'This is no place for a young woman in the dead of the night,' the newcomer said. She recognized his voice and tensed slightly. She heard him step closer and felt the warmth radiating from his body, just behind her. 'What are you doing here?'

'Thinking' she replied.

Tomoe finally turned to face him. Sato Jinzaburo was looking pensively at the heads atop the fence, the expression making his thin, pointed features appear sharper in the moonlight. It was a familiar expression among all the men these days, from even before Kiyosato had chosen to serve in Kyoto.

'The rebels are getting more destructive,' he said suddenly, still staring at the heads. He seemed to be debating whether or not to continue speaking. Tomoe said nothing, letting him decide. Finally he pursed his lips and turned to look at her. His voice was stoic as he spoke.

'What I disclose to you tonight, you must promise not to speak of with anyone.'

At her nod, he spoke again.

'Six months ago it was reported to the bafuku that Choshu had penetrated to one of our strongholds in Kyoto, a senators home in the district called Sannensaka.' Sato's eyes were focused intently on the rotting skulls atop the city fence. 'In one night, an entire corps of Mimawarigumi and six foreigners with ties to the government were slaughtered. Each of them killed by a single strike, with no time to draw their weapons.'

'Six months ago,' Tomoe whispered. She remembered the grim look on Akebo's face when he returned from his post in Kyoto all those months ago. Like many of the shogun's men, Akebo spoke of victory, but there was fear in his eyes, she had seen it. 'Six months ago you promised victory...'

'We had expected it,' he said brusquely, finally turning towards her. 'That man,' he pointed to the hitokiri's skull. 'Was the price they paid for their foolishness in challenging the bafuku's strength! After that, Choshu was scattered. All those rebels could do was play at war, creating nothing more than minor skirmishes. The incident at Sannensaka was seen as blind luck.'

Tomoe lowered her head, having no choice but to accept Sato's explanation. He continued.

'The bafuku doubled his guards in the city, but despite that the murders continued…'

She raised her eyes to his.

'Akira...'

'Was killed protecting Shigekura Jubei, a bakufu loyalist.'

Tomoe's heart lurched. She had known. She had known he was walking to his death, she had seen fearful glances on the streets then watched them hide it pitifully behind the guise of glory. She had ignored it. She let him leave. The moment of Kiyosato's departure played over again in her mind. A small gift and a promise...

_I will return. _

Tomoe's hand tightened around the hair pin, ignoring the sharp pain that followed. She shook her head as though trying to deny what she had heard. Jinzaburo reached for her. She pushed him aside and backed away.

'You have to understand Tomoe-kun,' he pleaded. 'We could not tell the people of Edo of the murders at Sannensaka!'

'Why?'

'Don't you see? Even though it was the revolutionaries who created the civil unrest, many people saw this as a sign of the bafuku's weakness and took up the banner of the revolution! The sentiment had spread to neighbouring districts...many of them are now protecting Choshu rebels despite the bafuku's order to expel them from Kyoto. We cannot have the people of Edo believing their government weak!'

'So you lie to your men,' she said, surprised at her boldness. Jinzaburo straightened at her unexpected challenge. 'You tell them they will achieve glory and then send them to be slaughtered.'

Jinzaburo's laugh chilled her.

'The Tokugawa is the only thing keeping these rebels from destroying Japan in the name of their ideals. We are the only things holding back the war and chaos!' His eyes were alight with passion. 'If Choshu is allowed to continue, cities will burn and the life we know, the privilege of the samurai, will be stripped from us!'

Tomoe stepped back. When she had declined his marriage proposal two years ago, he had ripped the shoji of her home right out of its fastenings. Since then, she had always feared his violent impulses would turn against her. His hands were clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms, but he did not move towards her.

_Perhaps,_ she mused, _Jinzaburo had at the very least, grown in his restraint._

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because three weeks before Kiyosato was killed, new information about the murders in Kyoto reached the bafuku.' Sato's voice lowered. 'We were informed of the name of the assassin.'

Tomoe looked up at him, her eyes wide.

'Assassin?' she said puzzled. 'You mean to say that these murders, all of them, were done by a single man?'

'A demon,' he corrected, his voice steel. 'Battosai.'

* * *

**_Genji 1__ (1864), Spring_**

**_Kyoto  
_**

'Do you know who we are, Tomoe-san?'

The young woman had kept her eyes on her knees ever since she had been called to Katsura's private room. Her hands, curled into fists on her lap, were the only sign that the she was indeed nervous. Alone but for himself and an armed samurai, he would have thought her foolish not to be frightened.

'You are the Ishin shi shi,' she replied, eyes still down cast. 'You're wanted by the bafuku.'

Katsura sat up straighter, surprised at her open admission of knowledge. He reappraised her. She was indeed beautiful. Her lily-white complexion and delicate frame were made even more flawless by her graceful demeanour. If not for those dark haunted eyes, which clearly bespoke a sharp intelligence, Katsura would have been more inclined to believe she was just an innocent young woman, who happened upon an unfortunate event. She was looking at him now, clearly distressed by his silence. He offered her a cup of tea and she accepted it politely.

'Ordinarily Tomoe-san,' he began carefully. 'I instruct my men to indulge in their dalliances away from this ryokan. Times are dark and your presence here...' He paused, choosing his words carefully. 'Cannot be treated lightly.'

Katsura saw her eyes fearfully acknowledge Katagai who stood silently behind him. His katana was sheathed.

'I can leave, if that's what you want.' Her voice shook.

'It's not,' he replied, noting the look of genuine surprise on her face. 'Once you leave, you will have our secrets, and even if you are not a spy, you know well that the price on our heads is high, enough to keep yourself off the streets for the rest of your life.'

Understanding dawned on her face.

'Then I am your prisoner.'

Katsura gave a low chuckle.

'Call yourself whatever you like,' he said, leaning back slightly. 'Himura's room, and your weekly stipend from the Okami, would make it an enviable prison indeed. You're even welcome to the hot springs.'

Tomoe's face reddened slightly, but she nodded.

'I will stay, but...' her voice was nervous. 'I do not wish to stay in Himura-san's room. It's not proper.'

'You have nothing to fear from Himura,' he replied seriously. 'Though I see no reason to force you to share his room. If you can make your own living arrangements within the ryokan, that is your prerogative.'

The finality of his tone told Tomoe that the conversation was over. From where she knelt, she bowed to both men, allowing her head to touch the floor before she stood up from her place by the wooden table. Seemingly unhurried in her exit, she knelt to close the shoji.

'What do you think?' Katsura said to Katagai as soon as he discerned her shadow was far enough away. Katsura hadn't moved from his place, his eyes were still on the shoji. He took a sip of his tea.

Katagai stepped into his peripheral vision.

'She's samurai.'

'That's what I thought,' Katsura agreed, pulling out a slip of paper from his hakama and handing it to the larger man. 'Tell the okami that her duties are to be confined to the ryokan,' he said. 'Keep a close eye on her.'

'And if she tries to leave this place?'

Katsura raised his eyes to the other.

'Bring her to me.'

Katakai gave a brief nod and left the room. Katsura sighed and rested his head against the palm of his hand, exhausted.

'Are those acceptable terms to you, Himura?'

The hitokiri did not move from his place just outside the window. Katsura reached for some more tea, silently waiting for Himura to take his place before him. He could feel the boy's anger radiating off him in waves and waited for Himura to regain his customary composure. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

'She would've died if I left her there...'

'She still could die now,' Katsura countered, his voice severe. He could feel his anger rising, the day's frustrations finally finding their target. 'This is war, and you have risked our exposure!' He brought his fist down hard on the table. 'That woman now holds a weapon greater than a sword. Her knowledge of our faces, our location... Greater men have been brought down by such foolish passions!'

Himura's head remained bowed in shame. It was only then that Katsura realized he had never had cause to reprimand him before.

'Sumimasen.' The boy's voice was strangled and tense. Katsura even thought he could detect some humility. 'I brought her here; let her be in my charge.'

'No.' Katsura's firm denial brought Himura's head up in surprise. 'You have greater duties.'

Katsura slid a small white envelope across the table to him. It was a map.

'Katagai-san reported that Shimazu Hisamitzu sent a ship full of weapons and armaments meant for the shogun's army yesterday morning. The ship is due to dock at Osaka tomorrow night.'

Himura glanced up from the contents of the envelope.

'You want me to go to Osaka to procure those weapons for you.'

Katsura nodded, relieved that the young man's brain was not as addled by the woman as he feared.

'You're leaving tonight. Hayoshi-san's corps will meet you at that location.' He tilted his head towards the envelope. 'They are under strict instructions to follow your orders.'

Himura nodded.

'And will To.., the woman, still be alive when I return?'

'Yes,' Katsura replied, meeting the boy's eyes. 'If she betrays us, _you _will be the one to administer tenchu.'

* * *

Tomoe breathed in a great gulp of air as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It took all of her self-control not to bolt from Katsura's room. She had thought he brought her there to kill her, and she was surprised at how terrified she was at the prospect of it. Tomoe clutched at the front of her kimono and fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Whatever made her think she could do this? She longed for her home: her father's welcoming smile and her brother's tantrums, even the taunts from the village women and their whispers of her cursed existence. She longed to be anywhere but here.

'Tomoe-chan!'

Tomoe turned towards the sound. A slight, young girl, with long, dark hair hanging loosely around her round face strode towards her from the kitchens.

'Hello, Gi-chan.' Tomoe forced what she hoped was a small smile onto her face. She was happy to see Gi. She was the only person in the Kohagi-ya who didn't completely terrify her.

'I have your kimono,' she said passing Tomoe the bundle. 'There was so much blood, but I think we managed to get it all off.'

Tomoe accepted the bundle and walked towards the maid's quarters with the other girl.

'Oh!' Gi exclaimed as Tomoe set the bundle down. 'I almost forgot.'

Gi reached within her obi and passed a smaller bundle to Tomoe. Tomoe reached for it with both hands and delicately unwrapped it. It was her hair pin. She had thought she lost it. She closed her hand around the object protectively.

'It's very beautiful,' Gi commented from over her shoulder. Tomoe blushed and quickly hid the object from Gi. Though it was clear she did not have to as Gi was already peering outside the maid's quarters into the kitchen. Tomoe tucked the hairpin into her obi, while Gi sidled up next to her. 'So did Katsura-san tell you that you needed to keep the secret? Are you staying?'

Tomoe nodded.

'That's wonderful!' she said, taking Tomoe's hand. 'It would be lovely to have someone around here who isn't married and ugly as a crow! Especially with the new boys coming in from Hagi... but I guess you won't be able to flirt too much, with Himura-san watching!'

Paranoid, Tomoe looked out into the kitchens.

'He's not watching now!' Gi laughed, then gave Tomoe's hand a light squeeze. 'Come, I've told all the boys Himura-san saved you from an evil shogunate samurai last night! They all want to meet you'

'I really don't think...'

But she was already speedily being dragged along into the kitchen and down the stairs into the small courtyard. All Tomoe could think of was not tripping over her own two feet.

It felt cooler outside, the crisp night air a welcome sensation after the cloying heat of her previous encounter. Tomoe's eyes fell immediately on five young men congregated in the small alcove made up of the kitchen wall and the fence separating the Kohagi-ya from its neighbouring establishment. The overgrown vines covering both walls encroached upon the space, making it seem smaller. Three of the young men were crouched in a circle on the ground, their attention captivated by two small dice, while one observed seated atop a wooden barrel along the fence and another from an old stone bench directly opposite it.

'Who's winning?' Gi asked, pulling Tomoe along with her towards them. Tomoe followed obediently, despite the growing urge to flee, now that the two young men observing the game turned their attention towards her instead.

'Naoto-kun,' said one of the young men in the circle, not looking up. He looked strangely comical with his dark hair arranged so that it appeared to defy the laws of gravity. Grumpily, the young man passed what looked to Tomoe like three smooth pebbles into another boy's hands. 'He's cheating.'

'If you don't want to lose, don't play,' the boy - Naoto, she inferred - advised, turning his attention towards them while adding the pebbles to a growing collection in front of him. He smiled up at them with a practiced charm that told Tomoe he was very aware of its impact. 'Who's your friend Gi-chan?'

'Oh!' Gi exclaimed, squeezing Tomoe's hand briefly. 'This is Tomoe-chan. Tomoe-chan meet Naoto-san, Daichi-san, and Takuya-san.' She gestured to the boys in the circle. 'They came yesterday, from Hagi.' She tilted her head towards the thin boy seated on the wooden bench, his hands fidgeting nervously on his lap. Unlike the others, he did not have a sword. 'That is Kazuki-san. He works in the Kohagi-ya with us - he just started last week.'

Kazuki smiled shyly at Tomoe.

'What about me?' said the man seated atop the wooden barrel. He had rugged, chiselled features, and a strong square jaw.

'I haven't forgotten,' she said teasingly, and released Tomoe's hand. 'Tomoe-chan, this is Taro-kun.'

Gi insinuated herself on his lap and planted a kiss on his cheek, drawing a series of furtive snickers from the boys in the circle. Taro glared at them.

'Kobayashi Taro,' the man said, bowing as best as he could with the girl on his lap. 'Gi-san has told us a lot about you, Tomoe-san'

'Ah! You were the witness to the great Himura-san's skills!' the one with the strange hair said enthusiastically. Takuya, if she remembered correctly. 'Come sit with us and tell us everything!'

Gi nodded her encouragement and Tomoe shook her head.

'I can't.'

The boys made noises of mock disappointment.

'Ara ara!' the tallest boy, Daichi, called. 'She's shy!' He winked at her. 'We can start it for you if you like!'

The young man stood up and brandished his sword playfully. The boy she had correctly guessed was Naoto pulled her aside.

'I am the evil black samurai, come to take this fair maiden into my evil lair!' Daichi announced, laughing darkly.

'And I,' Takuya loudly declared, jumping up from the floor, 'am Himura Battosai! Forged from the hands of Hiruko-sama himself to defeat the likes of you! You will not take that fair maiden, Black Samurai!'

Daichi lunged, and Takuya drew his blade from its sheath, in a mock battojutsu. Daichi fell back and onto the floor.

'I am defeated!' he announced.

Gi clapped delightedly. Tomoe blinked. She could not remember ever seeing Himura draw his sword, although she knew he would've had to. It was as though it had simply appeared in his hand, as if by some magic.

_Impossible..._

'So,' she said, as Daichi and Takuya dusted themselves and sheathed their swords. 'Himura-san's strength is found in his undefeatable blade, forged by fires of Hiruko-sama?'

'Oh no!' said Naoto, pulling her towards a seat, and ushering Kazuki, the quietest of them, to the side. '_Himura-san_ was forged by the fires of Hiruko-sama!'

'Himura-san?' Tomoe echoed disbelievingly.

'Ara!' Daichi exclaimed to the others. 'She doesn't know Himura-san's story!'

Taro rolled his eyes.

'It's a stupid story, Tomoe-san,' he said smiling. 'Don't let those jokers fool you for a minute.'

'Bah!' said Takuya, dismissing him. 'If Himura-san heard your disrespect he'd cut you down!' He turned back to Tomoe. 'He thinks he can say anything now because he's been here three months longer than all of us!'

Taro drew his blade slightly as did Takuya.

'Enough!' Naoto said, holding back Takuya and giving them both stern glares. 'I will tell the story...'

A hush fell over the courtyard.

'As you know when the black-ships arrived in Edo, the Emperor conveyed to the Tokugawa his wish not to open Japan's ports to the western countries. But when they threatened to fire, the shogun showed weakness and defied the Emperor's order to expel the barbarians!' Naoto paused dramatically and Tomoe nodded encouragingly, not keen to interrupt the most unexpected person to tell her what the war was about. 'The Emperor was furious with the Tokugawa for defying his orders and showing the foreigners that Japan was weak. So he prayed to the gods, that they punish the betrayers of the Emperor's wishes and bring about a new age. It seemed futile. The black-ships brought Choshu to its knees and demanded we resubmit to the Tokugawa rule! But then, the gods responded.' Naoto's voice lowered and Tomoe leaned closer into him. 'I was not there, but some say Himura-san burst out of the flames the night Choshu reclaimed Hagi from the conservatives, his eyes flashed yellow, and he brandished his flaming sword and he said...'

'Aren't you supposed to be preparing for tomorrow?'

The boys started and looked up to see Katsura Kogoro, his displeasure clear on his face. Himura was behind him, leaning back against the door frame, which led back into the kitchen, his eyes on her. Naoto released her hand. Tomoe wondered when he had taken it.

'Get up,' Katsura said to all of them, and the four young soldiers scrambled to their feet and stood at attention. Katsura's eyes appraised them all. 'I did not bring you to Kyoto to fool around with young women.'

Katsura turned to Himura, and tilted his head towards the boys. Himura seemed to consider them for a moment before he spoke.

'Kobayashi-san.'

Taro stepped forward.

'You will be accompanying Himura-san to Osaka tonight,' Katsura informed him. The others threw jealous glances towards him, while Taro stepped forward, bowed to them both and left, Gi in tow.

'The rest of you should be preparing to take up your posts tomorrow,' he said, handing them all small white envelopes. 'It does not do to become complacent.'

Tomoe watched as the young men filed out of the courtyard, each of them walking past Katsura and through the door where Himura waited. Himura's hand touched Naoto's shoulder and the boy froze. Himura's voice was too low for her to hear, but she caught his brief glance towards her. He released the other and followed Katsura back into the inn. Tomoe followed a pale and subdued Naoto into the kitchen.

* * *

Shakku waited patiently by the entrance of the Kohagi-ya, clutching a long slender sword in his hand. His gaze wandered the street idly. There was a soba vendor just across the street, and a place that sold vegetables and herbs, to the right of it. A young woman arranging her wares looked up at him and smiled. Shakku felt his hackles rise. Although there was nothing behind the smile, her mere acknowledgement of his presence bothered him. The people knew they were here, their silence bought by Choshu's promise of protection from the wrath of the bafuku should they be discovered. With Choshu's strength rapidly diminishing, Shakku wondered for how much longer their silence could be bought. The door of the ryokan slid open and Himura exited. Shakku felt his heart jump with fright. He had not even heard the boy approaching the door.

'Konbanwa, Shakku-san,' Himura said, turning to him and bowing. Shakku always found that strange, since the young man bowed to no one else, except maybe Katsura. 'Katsura-san informs me you will be staying at the Kohagi-ya for a time.'

Shakku gave a curt nod.

'According to Katakai-san, the Shinsengumi are heading towards Arashiyama district,' Shakku said, scowling. 'Katsura-san believes that once they reach my home, they will take me in for questioning.'

'You do not believe his concern justified.'

Though phrased like a question, it was not one. Shakku sighed.

'Although my political ties are with Choshu, I provide weaponry for both the bafuku and the shi shi.' Shakku said. He smiled at the boy's surprised look. 'It allows me to practise my art free of suspicion and has kept my family safe. At times, it has even afforded me the luxury of learning the bafuku's intentions.'

'...or betraying ours,' Himura said, his tone slightly foreboding. 'I can see his concern.'

'Staying here would mean admitting guilt,' Shakku said his voice cold. 'My family is still in Arashiyama. Do you see my concern?'

The boy's eyes widened slightly with realization.

'I do.' His voice was low, almost nostalgic. 'Sumimasen. I sometimes forget about family.'

Shakku let out a short humourless laugh.

_Of course he would. _He thought. _The boy has none._

'Enough of this stale talk.' Shakku said, remembering the sword still clutched in his hand. He tossed it to Himura. 'This is for you.'

The young boy caught it, surprised. Carefully he pulled out the blade, his eyes wide as he stared at the unmarred, unchipped metal. He ran his fingers just above the temper line in the steel, obviously noting its smoothness. His eyes finally settled at the bottom of the blade where its name was engraved. _Kagetou. _Shadow sword. Himura turned curious eyes towards him.

'A gift, for good tidings tomorrow tonight,' Shakku said, smiling wryly. Himura sheathed the blade and held it back out towards him.

'I cannot accept this.'

'Nonsense,' Shakku replied, amused at the boy's reaction. He couldn't help but think that Himura chose the strangest times to be humble. 'The blade was crafted for you, and no one else. Besides,' he said with a wink, 'Katsura-san, paid me a hefty sum for that!'

Himura's lip twitched. It was the closest thing to a smile Shakku had ever seen on his face.

'So it's not a gift then,' he said, bringing the blade back towards himself.

Shakku laughed.

'Not from me,' he conceded. The sound of approaching voices reached both their ears. Himura replaced his old katana with the Kagetou. The shoji opened to reveal Katsura and Taro.

'We are the last to leave,' Himura said, passing Taro the map hidden in his kimono. 'Memorise where we are to meet, then destroy the map.'

* * *

**Appendix**

Tenchu – Directly translated means, heavenly justice.

Shimazu Hisamitzu– The daimyo of the Satsuma prefecture

Hiruko-sama – Japanese God of Fire

Konbanwa – Good evening


	4. Chapter 3 :: Debt

**READ THIS BEFORE YOU BEGIN THIS CHAPTER**

Dear Readers,

I'm sorry that it has taken so long to complete a chapter of this story, but before you begin this chapter I'd like to ask you to begin the story again (that is if you have not already done so).

I visited Japan about 6 months ago (and it did include a stay in Kyoto and a Ryokan) and since then I have been doing extra research for this story and as a consequence adjusted some events to coincide better with the historical timeline. I have also had these pages beta'd and re beta'd to ensure that what you read is… well, better.

Secondly I'd like to thank everyone for their thoughtful reviews and most especially 'The Wandering Pen' whose patience and comments have made this story about 100 times better!

Also to my anonymous reviewer **rndom_fan**, a late reply but unfortunately, I will not be able oblige your request to see the story written from Kenshin's PoV. I have very deliberate reasons for doing this and I have outlined them at the end of this chapter for you and anyone else who is interested.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: All characters, places and situations in this piece of fiction would not be in existence without the genius of Watsuki Nobuhiro. There is no money being made of this piece of imagination

SPOILERS: Major spoilers for the 'Remembrance Arc' – Volume's 19-21.

SYNOPSIS: In the turbulence of the Bakumatsu, a young girl seeks to destroy Choshu's most dangerous assassin.

* * *

The Assassin

**Chapter 3: Debt**

"_Take what you want and pay for it, says God"_

_Spanish Proverb_

**_Genji 1__ (1864), Spring_**

**_Kyoto  
_**

_The web has been spun,  
What is now can't be undone..._

Tomoe placed her thinning fude brush directly on the ink stone. She was not normally in the practice of doing this, but she had lost her brush rest on her journey to Kyoto. Besides, there was not enough ink on the stone to clog the fude and render it sticky and unusable. After eight sunsets, her ink stick was now only just a quarter of an inch long.

Tomoe blew the ink dry, and lightly touched the page with her fingertips. She sighed, her neat script, once bold and striking, now closely resembled watermarks.

_Soon, _she thought, _there won't be anything left to write with._

The only voice she had ever claimed as her own would be silenced. The wind outside the room whispered softly past the paper windows and her shoulders tensed. She had best return to the kitchen and prepare the food for cooking. She had been selected by the okami to serve the soldiers who were coming home later that night.

Tomoe reached into her obi and pulled out Kiyosato's gift and a small, delicate piece of rice paper and wrapped up what was left of her ink stick.

_Perhaps it is not such a terrible thing not to be able to write all my thoughts_ she mused as she began to pack up.

If she did not write them down, then she did not have to examine them. At the very least, it gave her an excuse not to confront her growing uncertainties.

The assassin, Himura Battosai, had been a young boy, barely of age. She recalled their earlier encounter, before Katsura had told her that she was a prisoner of the ryokan. Himura had requested that she take her breakfast in his room.

'_I want you to swear you'll forget what you saw and leave.' _

How she wished she had listened. He may have even helped her escape.

_Escape to what? _Her mind supplied unhelpfully.

Tomoe stood up and dusted her grey-blue kimono. Its fabric was rougher than what she was used to and was beginning to wear around the edges of her sleeves. The okami had given it to her after Katsura had approved her to stay, another vestige of her entrapment. She sighed. If her confrontation with the Choshu leader was any indication, it would not do well for her to be lurking in corners. She was not trusted here.

Tomoe blew out the candle she was using to light her work. It would last at least two weeks, maybe a little bit longer, if she was prudent and wrote quickly.

The candle was the first thing she had purchased upon entering Kyoto. It had cost her the violet silk scarf her mother had sewn for her when she was five.

Tomoe tucked her diary and ink stick into her obi and took one last lingering look at Kiyosato's betrothal gift, the small golden leaves and the round jade embellishments that were atop the hair pin, shone in the meagre moonlight that spilled in the room. She closed her hand around it so that she could feel the edge of the golden leaves press hard into her hand.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the swell of guilt which threatened to consume her. She should have reached for him and begged him to stay; she should have cried.

With a sudden viciousness, born of self-loathing, she tightened her fist, letting the edges of gold cut deep into her flesh. A sharp pain lanced up her arm and she let out a strangled cry, her knees buckled and she fell forward, the heel of her other hand landing hard on the soft, thin, white candle on the floor. She moved to pick herself up but her body was trembling too violently. A short violent sob burst forth from her lips, and a cold realisation dawned upon her.

_I am alone._

* * *

Across the street from the Kohagi-ya, the row of fruit merchants hurriedly finished packing their wares. The sun was setting, and soon the blood red dusk would give way to grim darkness. It was to be a full moon tonight, but the large clouds gathering in the sky allowed only rare glimpses of its pallid light to reach Kyoto.

The night belonged to the hitokiri and in these dark days not even the moon dared to bear witness.

Shakku turned from the window he was looking out of and slid the paper divider closed. The rains were coming soon to water newly grown-sprouts and buds. Soon the city would be awash with an array of colour and life, renewing the city. Kyoto was so beautiful in the spring. It had been one of the city's more welcome surprises when Shakku had arrived there from Satsuma four years ago. The sword-maker looked down at his folded up futon, and sighed loudly. He would find no rest here tonight. Nevertheless, he knelt and began going through the motions of preparing the bed, his thoughts taking him back to the very first day he had sold his wares on a bridge just outside the silver pavilion.

It was spring, and the streets were lined with blooming sakura. The markets bustled with life and vivacity. Red banners from every store fluttered gently in the wind as shop vendors called out to browsing patrons to come in and to try or buy their wares. Every kitchen and tea house emitted pleasant aromas of food, while young children cajoled their parents into buying them a box of yatsuhashi.

He had struggled to make ends meet then, yet in many ways, life had been much simpler.

There was no hiding, no lying, no trembling every time a sword-bearing government official came past his store, no wondering if the quiet exchange of pleasantries was a prelude to something more sinister.

Shakku shook his head and tried to clear his mind; these thoughts were unwelcome. He crawled onto his futon and pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes, as though he were trying to squeeze the thoughts out of his head. How he wished that his wife and son would know a life without fear. Closing his eyes, the sword-maker willed himself to sleep, his mind's eye clinging desperately to the image of a Sakura branch in full bloom, before cold fear had withered the blossom and covered the branch in snow.

* * *

**_Mannen 1__ (1860), Winter_**

**_Kyoto  
_**

_A strong winter breeze blew across Shakku's face, biting at the exposed skin around his eyes and penetrating the three thick layers he had wrapped around himself. He shivered and went to take a sip of some weak tea he had prepared for himself earlier. The porcelain was cold against his chapped lips and he soon discovered that the tea had frozen to the bottom of the cup. He growled in frustration and set down the tea cup with a clatter. Shakku had travelled to the great city months ago on the advice of his cousin, who had come home from his guard station at Nijo castle. _

'_Kyoto has been crazed,' his cousin had told him as he inspected his newly sharpened sword. 'The fighting has escalated; after 400 years of peace, men are finding out the hard way that their swords are not adequate for battle.' He raised his eyes to Shakku. 'Your skills would be valued there.'_

_And indeed they would have been, had many of the bakufu's samurai not already had their own trusted sword smiths to create and maintain their blades. Business had, at first been slow but steady. The spring brought some men, mostly ronin, who came to him to have their swords sharpened, but as the seasons changed, Shakku's meagre stream of customers waned. So desperate had Shakku become that he had sold one of his most prized and carefully crafted katana for a third of its worth to a skinny young boy in order to pay to have a roof over his head. The sword's specially serrated blade which could've been used to kindle a flame had entranced the child so much that had Shakku not been so desperate for the money, he may have thought twice before selling such a sword to a child. _

_Another cold wind blew in his direction, penetrating the thin layers of clothing he wore. _

_Tomorrow he would have to find other shelter, perhaps under a bridge, if he wished to keep eating on a daily basis with what scant supplies he had. After a few more moments of shivering out in the cold, he began to start wrapping up his wares._

That's it for today, _he decided, pushing away thoughts of tomorrow's problems._

_He had almost finished wrapping his wares when he heard a man call out to him in greeting. Shakku sighed inwardly, not pleased at the prospect of delaying the warmth of his last night within four walls. _

_Perhaps he could convince this man to buy something, anything. Then at least he might be able to scrounge up enough coins to allow him a warm room for another two nights. Shakku bowed low at the waist._

'_Irasshaimase'_

_The man nodded politely in acknowledgement._

'_Forgive my intrusion,' the man said, in a thin tenor muffled by a cloth wrapped around the bottom of his thin face to protect him from the cold wind so that only his beady eyes could be seen. Shakku couldn't help but notice that the man before him wore a daisho at his waist, but he did not wear his hair in the style of the samurai. His cousin had warned him of the growing number of commoners who were wearing swords. Shakku bowed lower, canny enough to know that a man who dared to wear a sword would no doubt be willing to use it despite his status_

'_I am looking for a sword-maker in these parts,' said this new customer, in superior tones. 'A friend of mine bought this blade from him and I wish to return it.'  
_  
_Shakku raised his head slightly and to his relief saw an unfamiliar and unvarnished scabbard. He had no money to return to any customer as it was. His customer unsheathed the blade. Shakku's nose screwed up in distaste. The blade was dull and crudely crafted; its temper line almost non-existent. _

_His customer looked up at him questioningly. _

'_I know not where your man bought such an awful sword,' Shakku replied. 'But I am not the maker…' _

_The customer raised an eyebrow, and Shakku sighed and passed over one of his swords. The customer needed only a glance to see the difference in the quality of the blade. _

'_Sumimasen,' he said bowing apologetically. 'Thank you for letting me see your blade.' _

_The customer turned to leave, but the unforgiving winter breeze began to blow more ferociously, threatening to rip the flimsy awnings of Shakku's store. Feeling pity for this unknown customer, Shakku invited him to wait out the storm in his shop. The customer accepted the offer gratefully and followed him inside. _

'_My name is I'izuka,' the customer said. Shakku bowed and led him into the house. The corridors were dark, and unlit, and they wound on for longer than he remembered. Soon his visitor's steps behind him had faded only to be replaced by the sound of soft talking and the sight of a meagre light just beyond the corner. Shakku slowly turned the corner and the voice, while soft, resonated clearly with strength and passion. _

"... a Japan that is modern, led by men of talent and skill rather than those born to privilege. And this new world begins with you!"

_Shakku blinked letting his eyes adjust to the light. He remembered this place, a small inn at Hagi, where men would gather in a small secluded courtyard to listen to Katsura Kogoro. This day had been no different, for every seat had been taken, every man's rapt attention on Katsura as he wove his dream of a new Japan with his silvery words. _

_This had been a sight which had become rarer and rarer as the years wore on._

"For hundreds of years the bakufu has kept us unaware of the world beyond our borders! Keeping us from progress, keeping us from seeing their incompetence...!"

_As Shakku thought this, the man before him began to change. Eyes which had once shone with warmth and youthful exuberance had turned steely and calculating. _

"...but our eyes are open now. We can see more than ever that the Tokugawa's strength is waning..."

_Shakku shook his head and turned his attention to those in the crowd, almost all of whom now appeared to be slumped in sleep. _

"...and the emperor calls upon his people to become a new strength..."

_Katsura continued on, seemingly unaware of the slumbering state of his audience. _

_Shakku frowned. _Someone ought to wake them up.

"...the emperor calls upon us to build a new era!"

_He stepped into the courtyard and reached out to touch the shoulder of a large, bulky man who had fallen asleep against a support beam. _

"... but such an ambition will not come with ease..."

_A sudden realisation, struck Shakku the moment he touched the man's shoulder. _

"...the new era will come with a price..."

_He was cold, they were all cold. _

"...my brothers, are you willing to pay it...?"

_Shakku fell backwards in shock, the movement, jerking the body so that it fell forward, allowing the severed head to roll unceremoniously across the floor. Shakku scrambled backwards in panic, his hand brushing against the small hand of another cold body. The sword-maker turned sharply, the body he had disturbed was a woman who had fallen face down on the floor. Long ebony hair obscured her face from sight, but he did not need to see it. He knew upon touching her who it was. Shakku scanned her body and closed his eyes against the image of a still child, clutching at his mother's breast with four characters written on his tiny back. _

尊皇攘夷  
_Sonno joi_

* * *

Shakku bolted upright from his futon, heart pounding wildly against his rib cage as he scanned the room he was in.

_It was a dream,_ _only a dream._

Forcing himself to take deep breaths, he struggled to cease the trembling in his hands and quashed the urge to run straight to his home in Arashiyama. Unexpected returns were equally as suspicious as unexplained departures and the bakufu's men were watching him.

He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to will away the images of the dream.

To keep his family safe he needed to be cautious.

He needed to get a hold on his sanity.

He needed sake.

With that decided, the sword-maker began to make his way towards the kitchen, intent on liberating a large bottle of sake from the kitchen.

As Shakku reached the kitchen door and slowly slid it open. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not eaten in the last twenty-four hours. He surveyed the kitchen and was pleased to find some apples and oranges on the counter. Shakku smiled.

The last time he had eaten fruit, he was with his wife and son. Young Seiku had gotten hold of a quarter of an orange and to his mothers great irritation squeezed its juice all over his hakama in an attempt to eat it.

Shakku felt a sharp pang in his chest and shut his eyes.

_Stop thinking. _

He reached for the fruit, but before he could search for the sake, a soft, muffled sound caught his attention. He froze.

_The traitor_

Quietly, he moved towards the sound, his right hand hovered above his left hip and gripped his katana. The sound was coming from the washing room. Weapon in hand, he slowly approached the door, careful to ensure that he slid open the shoji quietly.

He soon found that there was no need for such precautions, for there, on the floor was a young girl sobbing and huddled over a broken candle, an ink stone and an old fude. He froze, taken aback by the sight.

The girl looked up at him, her eyes widening in surprise. She straightened abruptly and pulled her hand into her body to hide it.

'Sumimasen,' she said, clutching her hand. 'I fell and… '

Shakku released his hold on his katana and stepped towards her.

'Let me see your hand.' He reached out to her and reluctantly, she showed him her hand. The makeshift bandage she had wrapped around it was spotted with blood. Carefully, Shakku unwrapped it to see a few fresh cuts on her palm, and healed scars of a similar shape. He looked up at her questioningly and she looked away, and tried to pull her hand back.

'We should clean the wounds,' he said, releasing her hand and turning towards the kitchen.

He began rummaging through the cupboards

'The sake is just behind you.'

She said it as though reading his mind. He saw the bottles on the shelf just above the vegetable box. He tore his yukata and soaked it in the sake. He reached for her hand and started to dab it with the rag and wrapped her hand up. When he looked up she saw her looking at him questioningly.

'What song were you humming?' she asked.

Shakku blinked, he did not realise that he was humming. He looked down at his hands and began to wipe them free of her blood. He paused, and evaluated her, finally he spoke.

'It is the song I sing to my son when I clean his wounds after a fall.'

The corner of the girl's lip quirked slightly as she whispered her thanks and Shakku couldn't help but think of Himura. He wondered if he knew that the girl had a smile with an uncanny resemblance to his.

* * *

**_Genji 1__ (1864), Spring_**

**_Kyoto  
_**

It was still early in the evening when Ikumatsu had learned that the Shinsengumi were bragging about a victory over 'those damn patriots'. She had been at Karyukai teahouse serving Matsudaira-sama, a well known high ranking samurai, from Echizen prefecture, when she spied a group of men in blue and white uniforms being ushered into the adjacent room, many of them demanding sake and a song played on a samisen. She did not have to strain hard to hear their conversation, for the samisen did little to cover their voices, and the sake did nothing to inhibit them.

'They are almost out of resources,' one said in smug tones, 'and I heard someone was able to ambush the assassin. '

'Before he was cut into pieces,' said a mocking voice. 'The dead tell no secrets; we're still as blind as before.'

This had not been news to Ikumatsu, who had been hearing these whispers since early that morning. An ambush on the assassin meant that Choshu's information was leaking; Kogoro would be in the midst of trying to control the damage. So she was surprised when the teahouses' proprietor had told her that the rest of her evening engagements had been cancelled, and she was to go back to the Okiya to prepare to leave for the city.

Once she had returned home, mother had packed Ikumatsu and her escort into the palanquin with an odd smile playing on her lips as she told her the steep sum Kogoro had paid for her to be with him tonight.

'Eight thousand ryu,' Ikumatsu said teasingly, as soon as her escort had left her alone in his room. Now that they had no audience, they could do away with the niceties. 'Seeing that you've lost most of your support here in Kyoto, would it not have been more prudent to send that money to Hagi?'

'So Takasugi can spend it buying weapons for an army that he can barely control?' he countered irritably, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. 'The situation is delicate, Ikumatsu, Choshu is restless; they want to march on Kyoto regardless of the consequences.' He buried his face in his hands, prompting the geisha to pause.

Defeat was not something she was used to seeing on Katsura Kogoro.

She stood from where she knelt by the door and walked towards him, eyeing the plain, solemn decor of the room with distaste. He peered up at her from his hands. 'We will lose if we continue to make such ostentatious demonstrations of defiance.'

'I understand,' she replied, kneeling behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to rub them. 'Strategy and discretion until you are ready to challenge the Bakufu openly.'

Kogoro leaned back into her touch and she kneaded his shoulders twice more before guiding his head to rest on the crook of her neck, while her hands travelled down from his shoulders to the sash around his waist.

'Why is it that Shinsaku cannot seem to make his men understand this?' he asked leaning into her soft caress.

'Because they are men,' she replied readily, and smiled at his affronted look. 'Even if there is no success, there is glory in death. The fervour of battle is upon them, they are unhappy and angry. You have given them a reason to fight, but not one to succeed.'

She tilted his head so that she could see his pensive expression.

'You have given me much to think about,' he said solemnly, then with a wicked smiled he added, 'Well worth the sum I paid.'

An indulgent smile played upon Ikumatsu's lips.

'I live to serve.' Long slim fingers pushed the folds of his haori to the side, stroking the hard muscle of his chest. 'Though I'm flattered you were compelled to pay eight thousand ryu for my company, mother would have accepted two thousand.'

At this he smiled devilishly.

'She would've accepted six hundred,' he said. Ikumatsu let out an indignant cry and pulled her hands away from him. 'But eight thousand was your debt, and I need you to cut ties with your house.'

Ikumatsu's eyes widened. For most geisha, this was the greatest success and honour: to have their debt to their house paid. For a moment she felt elated until the implications sunk into her.

'You want me to live _here?_' she screeched, and stood up.

Kogoro reclined easily against a pillow like a lazy cat.

'Come now, Ku-chan,' he teased; his expression now betrayed nothing of his earlier concerns. She flashed him an angry glare. 'You knew this was bound to happen eventually.'

'Yes,' she conceded throwing her shawl at him. 'Once you had finally overthrown that idiot Yoshinobu, and you weren't being hunted like a rat!'

Kogoro's eyes narrowed as he pushed the shawl away.

'If I didn't know any better,' he said, his voice dark and foreboding 'I'd think you were ungrateful Ikumatsu.'

Knowing she had gone too far, the geisha sighed and reclined next to him, fixing her face into an expression of penitence.

'It's not that I don't enjoy your company Kogoro,' she said soothingly, running her right hand down his body and lightly squeezing his buttock to punctuate her point. She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and smiled as he turned towards her. 'I would deign to live with you if only you chose more suitable accommodations, or at least have access to a modicum of entertainment.'

Kogoro let out a soft, low laugh and shifted as her experienced hands stroked his chest and divested him of his cumbersome haori.

'Your idea of suitable accommodation would attract too much attention,' he replied as she began pressing light kisses to his collarbone. Despite the smell of sake on his breath, Kogoro still smelled pleasantly of soap and tasted clean and sweet. 'But as for your entertainment... There is someone here I think only you can investigate.'

'Oh?' she replied distractedly. The request did not surprise her; since she had met Kogoro, Ikumatsu had had much practise in using her feminine wiles to loosen a man's tongue. Her betrayal of Hagone-san, a visiting samurai from Aizu, had been her first service to him and had led to Kogoro's successes in the Choshu raids. She had also been a vital instrument when weeding out any whose loyalties were… questionable.

'The okami hired a new girl... I need you to gain her confidence'

She pulled her hands away from him and sat up straight, clearly insulted.

'Investigating the help?' she replied, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. 'Are you patronising me?'

'Not at all' he replied sincerely, reaching out a hand to caress her cheek and slowly coaxing her closer. Ikumatsu sighed. It did not matter anyway; she would do as she was told, no matter how distasteful she found it. He brushed his lips lightly against hers and obediently she yielded to him, as his kisses trailed up her jaw line to her ear.

'Himura brought the girl home last night,' he whispered hotly. 'I need to know if she bears him any ill will.'

Ikumatsu pushed Kogoro away from her so she could peer at him. His expression was solemn, serious.

'What you're asking…this is not like Hagone-san, Kogoro,' she said seriously. 'Prying secrets from a woman takes a different set of skills which I am not accustomed to calling upon'

At this Kogoro chuckled.

'Then I expect that you shan't be complaining about boredom too soon then'

* * *

Shakku had not ended up drinking sake the night before. After he had cleaned the girl's wound, she had left to sleep in the maids' quarters and he spent the rest of the night wandering around the Kohagi-ya like a ghost. He finally settled on the stone bench in the courtyard to bask in the early morning sun's rays.

He closed his eyes praying, for what he felt was the millionth time that night, that his wife and son were safe. The sound of voices and clattering wood interrupted Shakku's prayers. His eyes snapped open to see the boy, Naoto, standing in front of Tomoe. She was holding two small pails.

'Let me get that for you,' Naoto said, taking the buckets from Tomoe. Politely, she declined but when he insisted, she sighed in surrender, put down the pails, and walked back into the kitchen. As pleasant as their encounter was last night, her coincidental presence there still lingered unpleasantly in Shakku's suspicious mind. She had been willing enough to stay in the ryokan, he mused, though if she were a spy he had to wonder how she was gathering information. She did not attempt to ask him for any information, and kept mostly to herself. Her most constant companion was Gi, who, if she did know anything about Choshu's strategies or politics, would not have been able to explain it to anyone with any semblance of coherence.

Shakku watched as Naoto made sure the girl entered the ryokan and noticed the boy's face was set in an expression of admiration.

'That was generous of you,' Shakku said, making his presence known. Naoto turned around surprised. 'Won't you be needed in Sannensaka in two hours?'

'I can make it,' he said, picking up the buckets. He strolled towards the well, which was just beyond the small gate in the fence which separated the Kohagiya from its neighbour. The gate was almost imperceptible as it was covered in thick layer of vines which climbed and twines around the trellises. Shakku watched as the boy filled up the pails and came back towards the kitchen. He emptied them out into a larger basin.

Shakku smiled and leaned against the fence, his eyes focusing on the other as he came back for his second load of water.

'I don't think I'd have your courage,' he said as Naoto passed him.

The boy looked at him perplexed

'To challenge Himura for that woman,' Shakku clarified.

Naoto paled and Shakku felt slightly guilty for scaring him.

'That's not what this is,' he said his voice tight.

'Don't worry, I won't say anything to anyone.'

The boy relaxed slightly and glared at Shakku, clearly indignant at being made fun of. 'I'm not trying to win the girl over'

Shakku's gave the boy a dubious look and Naoto resumed his walk towards the well. 'Himura-san gave instructions that the woman was to remain in the ryokan.'

Shakku raised an eyebrow.

'But you're interested in her,' Shakku pressed on. Naoto's love life and his embarrassment was a welcome distraction. He saw the young man's face go crimson.

'What does it matter?' Naoto said, pulling up the pails from the well. 'I think she's pretty, but she's with Himura.' He entered the kitchen and poured the water it into a larger basin. 'Besides,' he added, appearing at the kitchen doorway. 'I will not give Himura-san a reason to kill me before I am able to test my skill on the bakufu's men!'

Shakku watched Naoto bring back the buckets the third time.

'Are you sure you're not just looking for an excuse to talk to her?' Shakku teased. 'I mean this courtyard is still technically part of the Ryokan.'

'Well I figured if I'm going to stop her from going to the flower shop next door, having to step into the courtyard of another establishment for water must also count as "leaving the ryokan",' Naoto replied.

'The flower shop?'

'The okami sent her…' the younger boy explained.

Shakku smirked. When it came to the running of the ryokan, the okami took orders from no one.

'And what happens once you're in Sannensaka?'

'Takuya-kun will be back by then to take over the watch.'

Shakku let out a short laugh. They had a schedule. Then again, they were right to take an instruction from Himura seriously.

'I don't suppose you'd want to help out with any of this would you Shakku-san?' Naoto asked from within the kitchen.

'No,' Shakku replied leaning back. 'Himura gave the task to you. I'm sure you're incredibly capable of it.'

'I meant carrying water,' Naoto said, crossing the courtyard for the sixth time.

Shakku's laugh was answer enough for the boy.

'I'll supervise,' he said, and turned his eyes to the sky and began to lazily watch a pigeon circle round and round above him. _How strange that it would circle the same spot for so long,_ he mused, then his eyes caught on something on its leg, a note. His hand felt around for a pebble, and with the precision of a hunter, flung the pebble towards the bird, stunning it and knocking it onto the floor. Shakku quickly untied the small note from its leg and unfurled it. It had a single odd character written on it, three diagonal lines drawn from the top right to the bottom left. Shakku frowned. He had seen this character before in his han. He had engraved the character on the hilt of a sword he created for the most powerful of the Satsuma damiyo, Shimazu Hisamitsu. He looked up to see Naoto staring at him and the note incredulously. Shakku's voice trembled when he spoke.

'Find Katsura-sama.'

* * *

**_Genji 1__ (1864), Spring_**

**_Shimabara, Kyoto  
_**

Perfume was an ever present smell in Shimabara. The overly sweet smell permeated the air as though it were attempting to mask the smell of sex and alcohol which was the trade of the district. Idly, I'izuka scanned the white faces behind the wooden bars. Twisting his pipe in one hand and fiddling with a tiny bag of small coins in the other, he began to peruse of the goods the city had to offer him. With the stipend he had been receiving from Katsura, he would be lucky if he could purchase anything he would find… stimulating.

Finally, he stopped in front of a storehouse of women, knowing if he walked any further he would find himself spending more than he should. He leaned forward and let his pipe tap noisily on the wooden bars, drawing angry, irritated stares from the women inside. I'izuka frowned, most of them were thick and ruddy, as though they were built more for labour than for the pleasure district, and a few were so thin that he thought that if they were allowed to leave their storehouse, they would float away with the winter wind. I'izuka went through the motions of having the girls brought forward to be examined, and did not even try to suppress a cringe when he noted missing teeth or a barely healed bruise.

These would not do, not after the night he had.

As he began to walk towards the more expensive storehouses, he remembered what it was that had driven him here.

_Himura._

Ten months had passed since Katsura had arrived on the door step of the Kohagi-ya with the boy in tow, a laughably short, foreign-looking boy whose big eyes and soft unshaven skin made several of the men mistake him for a young girl. The first time I'izuka had seen him he, like many others, had looked upon the child with amusement. Some had even wondered if Katsura had chosen the boy to replace Ikumatsu. But once they had seen his skill, all had looked at him in awe. When they had learned of Himura's first killings, all had regarded him with fear.

A fear that had been reserved for I'izuka and his partner, Reiko, who had taken care of the assassinations long before Himura had stepped into their lives. Together, Reiko and I'izuka had been unstoppable. I'izuka's cool intellect coupled with Reiko's brute strength had been the jewel of Choshu. I'izuka had been both loved and feared, and he had revelled in it, for never in his life had he,the last son of a low ranking samurai, been treated with such reverence and respect. But all that began to fade the night Reiko perished in the assault on Nijo castle.

Katsura had introduced Himura to him as his new partner, but after a few 'assignments' done together, it became apparent that Himura was as mentally agile as he was strong. Soon, it was Himura who was being consulted on strategy and tactics. It was Himura who was receiving those little black envelopes. It wasn't long until I'izuka was 'promoted' to the 'Examiner of Executions' – whose sole purpose was to follow the boy around like a glorified servant and put paper tags on the corpses.

In fact, it should've been he who accompanied the boy to Osaka last night but Katsura had more 'important' work for him which involved helping Katagai glean more information on the little woman Himura had brought home with him. Oh, and how the night had been insufferable, standing guard while Katagai talked at length with a skinny old man about the geographic origin of a particular food spicing technique Himura's woman had used when preparing their lunch the previous day. Espionage, I'izuka decided, was far less exciting than he had originally believed it to be.

Finally stopping at one of the more expensive storehouses, I'izuka smiled. These girls were newer, prettier. He gazed lustfully at the young woman who sat in the centre of the display, her sad eyes, red lips, and delicate frame had a striking resemblance to Himura's woman.

'You have a keen eye sir,' said a voice from his left. I'izuka looked across to see a thin man with golden teeth smile at him. He wore the garb of the vendors in the district, yet unlike his rotting teeth the garb appeared unspoiled and new. Clearly, I'izuka thought, slave trading has become quite lucrative. 'She's only been displayed this week'

I'izuka lifted an eyebrow.

'I supposed that would mean extra?'

'The young ones are always more expensive,' he grinned. 'But reasonably so'

I'izuka took a puff from his pipe and passed it to the girl who clumsily took it in her hand, and took another puff in acceptance. It was true then: at least that the girl was new, or a good actress. Either way he wanted her. She passed back the pipe and just as I'izuka reached for it, it was snatched out of his hand.

'Aren't you supposed to be in Osaka?' asked a soft voice.

Startled, I'izuka jumped, turning towards the voice.

'Kiyosato-san?' he yelped in surprise, noting the livid expression on Akebo's face. 'What are you talking about?'

The other frowned and pulled I'izuka out of ear shot and into a small alley, ignoring the vendor who was now wondering what to do with the girl.

'You are supposed to be in Osaka leading Battosai into our ambush!' Akebo gritted through his teeth.

I'izuka frowned and snatched his pipe from Akebo.

'I planted the information to give to Katagai like your lord instructed,' he replied irritably. 'I never received orders to accompany Battosai anywhere.' He took a drag of his pipe. 'Besides, what does it matter? If I lead him there or not, he will come to you regardless.'

'Yes,' Akebo said slowly, as if speaking to an old woman with hearing problems. 'But now we'll have to kill him.'

I'izuka's brows furrowed in confusion.

'Isn't that what you want?'

Akebo ran his hand down his face in exasperation.

'Did you not receive Kodama-sama's message?'

'Message?'

'One of the carrier pigeons should have come to you last night'

I'izuka frowned. He'd seen no carrier pigeons circling around the Kohagi-ya last night. But then again, when he had returned from his errand with Katagai, he had drunk himself into a stupor. So it was likely that he did see it, he just didn't remember.

'There was no pigeon.'

Akebo growled in frustration and grabbed I'izuka by his hakama and pulled him so close I'izuka could feel his warm breath against his cheek.

'You are useless!' he snarled, before pushing him away and laying his hand on the hilt of his katana. 'I may as well kill you now.'

'Then why don't you?' I'izuka challenged. He got up gingerly, certain that Akebo was under strict orders not to kill him, for he was the bakufu's only window to learning about Hitokiri Battosai. He looked up at the other and at the sight of Akebo's form trembling in fury, I'izuka laughed and swaggered towards him. 'Oh yes, I forgot, you don't have _permission _to. Bureaucracy is a bitch isn't it? Can't do anything without a pile of paperwork. No wonder people think the bakufu can't get anything done. You sure you don't want to join the Shi shi Akebo-kun? There aren't as many rules on our side.'

Akebo lunged for I'izuka and slammed him up against the wall of the alcove.

'Do not test me,' Akebo said, through gritted teeth. 'You are the reason my brother is dead.'

'You were the one who chose him for that mission,' I'izuka reminded him, shoving him back. 'Trying to fast track him on the road to glory before his wedding day, aye, Kiyosato?'

A swift punch to his face saw I'izuka sprawled on the floor for the second time that day.

Nose throbbing and tasting blood in his mouth, I'izuka decided that he was finished goading Akebo.

I'izuka lifted his hand to block the blood flow from his nose then stood up, leaning against the alcove wall for support. He touched his nose gingerly. He was going to have to come up with a story for that.

'Tell me why I was supposed to accompany him to Osaka,' I'izuka said, frowning at the nasal sound of his voice. He could tell it would be a while before the bleeding ebbed. Akebo hesitated a moment before whispering.

'Kodama-sama wishes to talk to him.'

I'izuka blinked and locked eyes with Akebo.

'Talk?' he echoed incredulously.

'They saw what happened to the Yaminobou who challenged him,' Akebo explained. 'They think he could be an asset to the bakufu.'

I'izuka's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

'You want him on your side?'

Akebo's eyes narrowed.

'Kodama-sama believes that would be best. If we cannot kill him, we can at the very least, try to control him.'

I'izuka would have laughed if it hadn't meant spraying blood everywhere.

'Battosai cannot be bought'

'Please,' Akebo said darkly. 'Every man has his price.'

I'izuka shrugged. As long as the bakufu paid him once they had their hands on Battosai, dead or alive, he'd have enough money to seek his fortune abroad. So he couldn't care less what the boy did. He looked at Kiyosato for a moment and seeing that he did not appear to have anything left to say, began to walk away. He had reached the entrance of the alley when he heard Akebo call his name.

'The girl, is she…'

'She's alive,' I'izuka reassured him.

'And has she…' A sharp intake of breath. 'Have they…'

'Battosai hasn't touched her if that's what you're asking'

From the corner of his eye I'izuka saw him nod in approval. After a few more moments of silence Akebo spoke again.

'Kill her'

'What?'

'Unworthy as she is, she belonged to my brother.' Akebo lifted his trembling eyes to his. 'Whatever purpose they sent her to him for, I would rather see her dead than defiled by my brother's murderer…'

* * *

**Why not write Kenshin's PoV?**

_**Reason 1:**__ Kenshin has already told you this story_

Watsuki has already outlined Kenshin's PoV, and I find it redundant to rehash too many ideas already put forth in the manga because then, the story risks becoming a copy of Watsuki's story told in prose. Although I have already brought out new ideas in this story (i.e. new events and new characters), I feel that Watsuki has acquainted us well enough with Kenshin to allow us to use our imaginations to discern what his reactions are to the events I have created. I believe that your imagination is much more awesome than anything I or anyone else can write.

_**Reason 2: **__Avoiding Kenshin's PoV has allowed me to explore and convey three ideas simultaneously (possibly without you knowing!):_

The first is that by deliberately avoiding using Kenshin's point of view I aim to use the text form to provide a subtle metaphor for what Watsuki has already told us about him. Kenshin's life was a dark secret. He existed only on the edges of other people's lives, thus that is how he has been and will be portrayed through the rest of the story.

The second is the idea that 'Hitokiri Battosai' is merely a construct created by those who know of him. I have most explicitly explored this notion in chapter 2: 'Legend'. For example his enemies call him demon, his new comrades call him hero, an older comrade sees him as a lonely soul and his superior sees him as a means to an end. Who is 'Hitokiri Battosai'? That I will leave for you to decide as the story unfolds :).

The third idea that I hope to convey indirectly is Kenshin's internal conflict. Kenshin, as Hiko has said 'wavers' between the coldness of the hitokiri and his ideals. Kenshin is fragmented, and the text –as in how Kenshin is written into the story - reflects that.

I am deliberately using this story to experiment with how the structure of the text (e.g. the use of fragmentation and the deliberate deconstruction of Kenshin's character.) can be used to add meaning to the story.

_**Have I over intellectualized this? **_

Most definitely, yet there is great satisfaction which comes with consciously creating something this complex :)

Thank you all once again for your kind reviews I read them whenever I need inspiration to complete the story!


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